<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Bold as Brass by JubilantBebop</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30127422">Bold as Brass</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/JubilantBebop/pseuds/JubilantBebop'>JubilantBebop</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Cooper-Fisher Mysteries [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries, Tortall - Tamora Pierce</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1920s Australia, Beka the Terrier, Crossovers &amp; Fandom Fusions, Gen, Lower City</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:41:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,063</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30127422</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/JubilantBebop/pseuds/JubilantBebop</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What would have happened if Rebekah Cooper had grown up in Melbourne, Australia, rather than the Lower City of Corus, Tortall?  When her mother is abused by a thug, Beka hunts the gang down and goes to the police for justice, but no one wants to listen to an eight-year-old waif from the streets.  So she goes to the only other people she can think of: Phryne Fisher and Jack Robinson.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Cooper-Fisher Mysteries [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2227974</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As always, this work is unbeta'd and I don't own any of the characters/universes within.  I'm not entirely sure how this particular crossover came into my head, but I think it works.  Cheers!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ma never did have good taste in men.</p><p>I could hear her latest man clear as day through the bedroom wall - not that it’s ever hard.  The walls of the boarding house are thin as tissue paper, but no other place would ever let a woman with five little ones for what we could afford to pay.</p><p>Even still, Ma lied and said there were only three of us.  Nilo is still in nappies, Willes barely out of them, but they are small and can hide if someone comes knocking.  I make them hide whenever Ma’s new man comes around, because anyone with eyes could see he is mean and not the kind to soften to the little ones.  Some men coddle the little ones to get close to Ma, but not Lenny.  Any sweetening he wants from Ma, he takes, and by his reckoning Milo and Willes would be dealt best with the backs of his hands.</p><p>Reckon I shouldn’t be surprised, since everyone on Mutt Piddle Lane knows that Lenny runs with the Bold Brass Gang.</p><p>“Beka.” Lorine whimpered, tugging at my skirt.  I turned away from the door to look at her.  She is four, and no matter how hard I try to keep my brothers and sisters clean they all end up with dirt on their faces and hands.  Maybe it comes from living all together in two rooms, though I try hard as can be to keep that clean as well.  The coverlet on the bed we all share is not new, but it is clean and patched and more than I can say for most rat nests around the city.</p><p>Lorine tugged again, and I closed my hand around her sticky fist.  “We’re hungry.” She whispered, and my own stomach clenched.  Of course they were hungry.  I’d not gone to the market yet, seeing as leaving Lenny alone in the house with the little ones made my skin itch.  Willes or Nilo might cry, or something might happen to the girls which I could not bear thinking of.  I am only eight years old, and small enough for it, but Ma always did say that I knew too much when it came to looking after my brothers and sisters.</p><p>“I know.” I whispered.  There was a bit of bread and cheese in the kitchen that I thought Lenny would take no notice of.  He liked better food in his belly than we kept around our house.  I took a deep breath, looked to see that Willes and Nilo were out of sight, and ducked into the main room.  Like the bedroom, it was small and smelled faintly of overcooked food.  We’d never had much when it came to things, and the rooms we called ours had been furnished with a wobbly table and chairs that didn’t match.  Half the cupboards had no doors, but Ma was a fine seamstress and had made curtains from sackcloth.  I winced when I reached the food cabinet; the cigar tin where we kept our savings was on its side, lid dangling and empty.  He’d taken our money.</p><p>I was putting bread and cheese into my skirt, shaking with my fury, when Lenny looked over and swore.  “Di’n’t I tell ya to keep yer brats out?” A big hand closed around my arm, and the other hand hit me so hard upside my head that for a second I saw stars.  I fought hard to keep my legs under me, even as Ma screamed and started begging for him to let me go.  That was what made me do it, I reckon, Ma’s voice.  Mostly I’m so shy with folks that I can’t look at them in their eyes, even talking.</p><p>I looked at Lenny, then, so angry that I wanted to spit into his eye.  Lenny let go like he was burned and reeled back.  Folks said I had ghost eyes, they’re so pale, and it’s a good half that swear when they see them, and half who just shiver and walk away.  Lenny was the swearing kind.</p><p>“Stay away!” He ordered, pointing a sausage-like finger at me.  I wanted to tell him that he had been the one to grab me first, but my ghost eyes don’t always give me the spine to speak.  Still, I could glare, and I did until he turned away and slammed out of our rooms.</p><p>When I heard the door to the street slam shut finally, I knew that Lenny had left to do whatever he did during the day.  This started Ma back into one of her coughing fits.  I tried hard not to think about it as I rubbed her back, but it’s impossible to ignore when her handkerchiefs turn bloody and there’s no coins in the tin to buy medicine.  The thought of Lenny with his pockets full of our savings made my blood go all hot again, but I hid it and helped Ma into the threadbare armchair in the corner.  Her eyes looked more sunken than usual, and I thought I could see bruises on her cheeks.</p><p>Once Ma’s hacking cough had eased, I leaned my forehead against hers.  She had always liked it when I did that.  The littles came out like magic, then, flocking around Ma and settling against her with their warmth.  She didn’t seem to mind that Nilo’s face was dirty, or that Lorine’s hair was uncombed, and if the littles noticed the bruises on Ma’s face, they didn’t say.  My blood was still singing like fire, and seeing Ma’s face all bruised made my next decision easy.</p><p>I handed out the fistful of bread and cheese to my brothers and sisters, then jerked my head towards the door to show that I was leaving for food.  Ma nodded her understanding, but her eyes were on her other children.  I couldn’t find it in myself to be jealous as I slipped out, because a foolish idea had come into my head.</p><p>I was going to catch the Bold Brass Gang and make them pay.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Bold Brass Gang haunted Mutt Piddle Lane and the neighborhood like a swarm of two-legged rats, leeching everything good from it and leaving nothing but folks desperate for food and coin.  Everyone who lived in our part of what we called the lower city knew about them, and knew to keep out of their sight.</p><p>For all their crimes, the gang wasn’t hard to find.  Maybe they were just that cocky.  Maybe it was a’cause I’m not a copper, or else since I’m so young, but Lenny never looked around as he and a mate strolled down Mutt Piddle Lane.  Bold as brass, their gang was, but no one said anything about them having the wits of pigeons.</p><p>No.  That’s not fair to pigeons.  To them that listen, pigeons can whisper the secrets of the dead, or so my granny says.  I fancy I can hear them talk, too, but I keep this to myself.  Having ghost eyes is one thing, but hearing ghosts too would make Welfare pick up their heads and take notice.  Before I could blink, the littles and me and Ma would be scattered - me to an asylum, and the others to homes who might not care about Nilo’s fear of the dark or Lorine’s dirty face.</p><p>It was easy enough to hang back in the dusty street, especially when the men crossed into the outdoor market.  There, the noises and sights were enough to turn any head, and enough places to duck behind if Lenny got the sense to look around.  I settled on my haunches behind a pickle barrel when they got to talking to a dumpling seller, knowing that their lazy bones would take time to eat and trade foul jokes.</p><p>All that morning I tracked them, until my feet were red from the dust that soaked into everything. Even if you stood on the sidewalk, the red dirt of the city would get everywhere, and us folks in the lower city were proud of the red stain.  Wherever Lenny and his mate went, they spent time drinking or gambling, until I was dead certain that they couldn’t stand any more.  Then, just when I thought I’d have to hound them another day, Lenny dug an elbow into his mate’s ribs and they took off towards the waterfront.</p><p>Anyone with a head could see that they were headed for the warehouses, and sure enough, they disappeared into one with a faded gold coin painted on its shingle.  It was easy enough to find a window at the back that had a pane missing, and easier to make out the lads perched on crates inside.  They were laughing and going on like they hadn’t been ruining folks’ lives the past two years.  There were empty bottles of gin and rum all over the floor, more than any men could drink in one or even five sittings, so I knew they’d been there for days.</p><p>I looked at the faces then, hard, making note like a proper copper might.  Half of them I knew from the lower city, from their boasting and strutting.  Brian Marley.  He was big, and liked taking pasties from the market.  No one ever stopped him for fear that he might hit back.  Toby Aster, who was skinnier and rat-faced.  Mark Butcher.  Johnny Black.  Alex Corley.  I wished I had something to scribble names on, but I trusted my memory just as well.</p><p>Their laughing voices floated up to where I perched outside, and my blood sang when I realized what they were saying.  I had only reckoned on finding some of the gang, but they were laughing about their next big foist, and where they kept their goodies.  I listened as long as I dared, then slipped away before they started stumbling out in twos and threes.</p><p>Would the police believe me?  I paused, almost to the station, to think.  Anyone knew that the lower city guard house was half-rotten with tell-tales and folks looking to earn bribes.  Still, the thing had to be done, and it was noon already.</p><p>I squared my shoulders and marched across the street into the guard house.  It was crowded with people, rats and coppers alike, and I had to squeeze through a knot of ladies in bright rouge to reach the desk.  The sergeant’s desk was as tall as me, and I had to stand on my toes to get the sergeant’s attention.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>I clenched at the edge of the desk and tried to lower my voice.  It was shaking, curse it!  No one would ever take me serious if I could barely say what I had to offer.</p><p>“The Bold Brass Gang.  I know where their nest is.”</p><p>The copper laughed at me.  Laughed!  He leaned forward across the tall sergeant’s desk to look down at me, hat tipped to one angle as though pretty girls were watching.  There was enough oil in his hair that it looked hard as his helmet.</p><p>“Cor, but you’re a little thing.  This ain’t a place for a kid, now go back to your mum and stop singing tales.” His voice was laughing, but his eyes were irritated-like.  I could feel the stares of the others in the room on me, and the heat that spread over my neck and face.</p><p>“Not a tale.” I muttered to my feet, trying to find the spine to look up at his face again.  “S’truth.” </p><p>From the corner of my eye I saw a copper by the door straighten up from where he’d been leaning.  That got me moving.  Laughing coppers are one thing, but ones annoyed by a brat’s singing are another, and there was no telling what side of the law any of them chose.  Outside, I sat down on the steps with my chin on my hands, thinking without paying much heed to the pigeons that flocked around me.</p><p>I thought I heard one of them whisper, “It was that Robinson that cuffed me, curse him.  Him and that sheila, that Fisher woman”.  I looked around, sharp-ish, but the movement made the pigeons around me scatter.  There was only one thing for it.  I knew what to do now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Outside the guard house, the finest car in Melbourne sat parked in the shade, and I knew at once that the folks I needed were inside the station.  If the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher was here, then (as tales went), Detective Inspector Robinson would not be far behind.  Being a woman, Miss Fisher could never be an official copper, but she was as good or better.  The lower city never kept secrets for long, and Miss Fisher was so pretty and dressed like a moving picture star that we all knew of her.</p><p>I settled on my haunches against the front wheel of her car where they would see me, and waited.</p><p>It seemed like ages before Miss Fisher strolled out, accompanied by the very man I wanted.  Like anyone else, I knew that Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was the best lad on the force.  Folks saw him one of two ways: with relief, seeing as how he was known for dogging his cases til the end and getting justice, or with suspicion.  Most cops could be bribed for some of the smaller things, but not Inspector Robinson.  It made folk uneasy to think that they might be fingered for crimes but not crawl away from them.</p><p>He was fair, though, one of the few straight coppers in Melbourne, and it was exactly what I needed.  A crooked copper might let Lenny or another of the gang know about my tales in exchange for some coin, and then I’d be hanging dead in the market fountain.  Not Jack Robinson.</p><p>Like other good policemen, Inspector Robinson had a way of looking all around him at once.  I straightened up and stood away from the car just as his eyes turned on me, taking in my much-mended dress and bare, muddy-red feet.  His eyes were famous by themselves, never once showing folks what he was thinking.</p><p>“Are you Inspector Robinson?” I asked, as though half of the city didn’t know who he was.  He looked at me harder this time, and it took every ounce of love for Ma to keep me from turning my eyes away. </p><p>“I am.” He said.  Good.  If he had tried to lie just because I was a snot-nosed brat from Mutt Piddle Lane, then I wouldn’t have bothered with him.</p><p>So the entire street wouldn’t hear me, I stepped so that I could see my reflection in the shining brass buttons on his uniform.  Miss Fisher, too, was so close that I could smell her perfume.  It was Ma’s favorite scent, lily of the valley, and I like to think that if she’d been dealt a better life, it was that perfume she’d be wearing.</p><p>“I know where the Bold Brass Gang’s rat nest is.” I said, making my words as clear as I could.  “And where they’re running to next.”</p><p>Going by the inspector’s flinch, I would’ve bet a week’s worth of bread money that the little hairs on his arms stood up beneath his jacket.  His eyes glanced all around us, considering, then one hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist so hard that I gasped.</p><p>“If you’re foolish enough to pick the pocket of a policeman, then you’re foolish enough to join the other thieves in the lock-up.” His voice was crisp-like, and rang across the street.  He leaned like he was looking me square in the face, giving me a lecture, and I couldn’t help it.  I pulled back, away from his sharp eyes.</p><p>“Act like a rat.” He breathed into my ear, and I knew instantly what his game was. </p><p>“Aw, but I didn’t mean nuffin’ by it!” I whined, pawing at the hand that was towing me towards the guard house.  “Honest!  M’brother put me on a lark!”</p><p>We were through the big front doors now, with me whining and dragging my feet and Inspector Robinson walking at my side as though he were a king.  The coppers who had brushed me off earlier sneered and elbowed each other, until the inspector gave them a look that I envied.  One day, I’ll be able to drive all the lads away with the same look, or walk with the same grace that Miss Fisher used.  She didn’t look at anything or anyone, but strode along beside us like she owned the guard house and everyone in it.</p><p>The inspector showed me into a cramped room with a table and chairs squeezed in it, and closed the door behind Miss Fisher.  I figured he’d either forgotten she was there (though how anyone could forget her, I didn’t know), or didn’t care that she’d come along.  A second later, someone had come to put a hot mug of tea in front of me.  It was good tea, too, by the smell, but instead of touching it I eyed Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson.</p><p>“Now.” The inspector settled himself in a chair across the table from me and took up a pen.  Miss Fisher had put herself near the door, her face turned away, but I would have bet a week’s bread money that she was listening to every word.  “Tell me what you know.”</p><p> </p><p>So I told him, staring at the marred surface of the table so that my shyness could not get in the way of the telling.</p><p>I told him how Ma’s man hit her, how sick she was, not mentioning her name or the names of the littles.  That Lenny had taken the last of our money.  When I got to the part where Lenny hit me, I saw Miss Fisher stir in her corner, but I didn’t dare look up at her.  Like other fine, rich folk, she was probably shocked at such happenings.  She didn’t know what it was like to take a cat bath in a basin of cold water or to get bread from the day-old bin.</p><p>If the inspector was impatient with the tales of my family, he didn’t show it.  Instead, he made a note or two on his pad, never interrupting, though once my words turned to tracking the Bold Brass gang, his pen sped up.  I am not so good a reader as can read upside-down, and it looked like he was using a cipher that only coppers knew.</p><p>Then, once I had told of how I had found my way back to the station after tracking the gang, I sat back and let out my breath.</p><p>“Did you report this to the desk sergeant?”</p><p>I was so startled that I forgot my shyness and looked up.  Inspector Robinson’s eyes were calm, and kinder than I had ever expected to see from a cop, but they were also serious.  He expected an answer.</p><p>“Yair.” I said simply.  What manner of question was that?  “They laughed and tossed me out.  Said I was tellin’ tales.  ‘S why I came lookin’ for you.” I could have buttered him up with all the things that folks on the street said about him - how he was one of the best men on the force, especially with it so rotten with crooked cops - but my gut told me to keep quiet.  He didn’t seem the sort to care much about what the lower city folks thought of him when it came to justice being done.</p><p>Inspector Robinson watched me for a moment, turning his pen over and over in his hands, then seemed to make up his mind.  He stood up and opened the door into the hallway, directing his voice into the station proper.</p><p>“Collins!” </p><p>Another uniformed man stepped in, this one shorter and broader than his superior, but his face was young and kind enough.  His eyes flickered from Inspector Robinson and Miss Fisher to me and back again, but it seemed as if he had known enough odd characters to be really phased by me.</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>“I think we may have cracked the Bold Brass gang.  Call in the best teams.  You know the ones.  We’re going raiding tonight.”</p><p>I was startled to find that there was a crooked smile on the corner of the inspector’s lips, as though he were keen and happy as a hound to go after such men.  It was a wonder that they didn’t call men such as him dogs, given their hunts across the city and eagerness to track down rats.  He and Collins left then, jamming hats onto their heads as they rushed off to earn their own bread money.</p><p>With Inspector Robinson gone, I slumped back in my chair and stared at the barely-touched mug of tea.  My throat felt dry and scratchy.  I had never talked to anyone for so long a time, let alone a policeman, and it was tiresome work.</p><p>“You ought to drink that, you know.” Miss Fisher prompted from the doorway, startling me so badly that I nearly upset the tea.  This time I was able to stare at her freely as she strode across the room to take the inspector’s place at the table, crossing her legs at the ankles.  Up close, she seemed older than I first thought, with crow’s feet starting to form around her eyes, but I could tell she was no fool.  Her eyes were brighter than a corbie’s, and more curious when she stared at me.  That was the other thing about Miss Fisher: she didn’t seem to care about my ghost eyes.</p><p>“Need to go home.  Ma needs me for help with the little ones.” </p><p>She looked at me shrewdly, as though she of all people understood what it was like to struggle through life taking care of children and households.  It was impossible, I knew, because she was such a fine lady, but the thought made me feel guilty.  To squash the guilt, I took an obedient sip of tea.  Cold or not, it was better than anything I would have gotten at home.</p><p>Then, hardly believing my own nerve, I asked, “Miss Fisher?  What comes next?”</p><p>The woman across from me gave a delicate little shrug, barely visible under the fine fur that she had wrapped around her shoulders.</p><p>“I really couldn’t say.”</p><p>That was a lie, and we both knew it.  She watched me drink the rest of the tea down, both of us in silence, but it wasn’t the sort of silence that friends keep.  I was almost glad when Miss Fisher said something, shyness or no.	</p><p>“What’s your family’s name?” Miss Fisher asked finally, leaning back casual-like, but her eyes were serious on mine.  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and gave a half-shrug.  If she wanted to lie, I could lie too.  What did my family name matter?  I had told them about the gang, hadn’t I?  Besides, a brat from the lower city was no one to look at too hard.</p><p>“If things go wrong, you could be in danger.” She said, leaning forward.  “The gang might hear that you spoke to us.”  For all her fine things and cheerful nature, Miss Fisher sounded deadly serious now.</p><p>“They never saw me.” I said, putting as much confidence in my voice as I could manage.  It was true, though.  The gang had mostly been drunk and stumbling, or too interested in the cheap women and market around them that they’d never looked to see that they were followed.</p><p>Finally, Miss Fisher sighed.  “At least stay the night.  There’s a bed in the next room where you’d be safe.  I’m sure Jack - the inspector, that is - would send someone to your house to let them know where you were.”</p><p>Ma would never get over the shock or shame, I thought, of hearing that her oldest was being watched by coppers, never mind that it had nothing to do with pinching purses.  But instead of arguing, because adults are like dogs with bones, I nodded without looking up at her.</p><p>“Yes, miss.”</p><p>“Good.  Get some rest.” Miss Fisher rested a hand briefly on my hair, like my own mother would do, and drifted out like a sweet-smelling cloud.</p><p>I counted five minutes, listening hard for the roar of her car’s engine, then left the room.  As crowded as the main room was, and as tall as the sergeant’s desk was, no one noticed my slipping out.  As I took off running down the street, I could almost hate myself for betraying Miss Fisher’s trust.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We're almost done!  Thanks to all that left kudos and comments...I've had a lot of fun writing this!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The shadows in the market were going on long when I slipped by.  There were still plenty of brats hanging about, helping their mums set up shop or else passing time before supper, and I could have been any one of them as I settled back behind the pickle barrel.  At night, when the regular market shut down, the night market took its place.  Folks wanting trinkets and food or a bit of pleasure after work came here to wander about and gawk at the people.</p><p>I was watching the pastry stall across the way come moonrise when a hand latched onto the back of my neck and held tight, and when I went to yell another hand clamped itself on my mouth.</p><p>“If I didn’t make it clear,” A deep voice told me, “I meant for you to go home, or else stay at the station.” I reckon Inspector Robinson thought I wouldn’t yell after, because he let go of my mouth.  I whirled around, not liking the feel of another’s hand on my face.  He didn’t look happy.</p><p>“Were you going to warn Lenny?” He asked me, not even bothering to be sly about it.  A flush crept up my neck and face.  I can always tell when I get rattled or angry, even away from a looking glass, because I get warm and red all over.  I have Ma’s skin, pale and freckled, and it shows every little thing I feel.  I reckon it shows what I can’t say for shyness, and this time it showed that I was right angry.</p><p>I spat in the red dirt.</p><p>“Your nob must be cracked.” I told him.  “Warn him?  What for?”</p><p>“I’ve seen plenty of folks care about their abusers.” Jack Robinson told me, and there was something almost pitying in his voice.  “Even when they have no reason to.  People get downright daft when they face losing someone.”</p><p>“Lenny should hang.” I told him bluntly, and by the look on his face he had caught sight of my eyes as I said it.  I kept talking, but my ghost eyes were on the street.  “I’m here ‘cause it stands to reason that if any get away, they’d come through here.” I said, nodding at the different places where the night market turned to street.  On one side was where the warehouses started, and the other was the street where the proper shops ended.  Only the market was between, and any car or lorry foolish enough to turn into the market would never get out before it was stripped of any of its value, even a copper’s wagon.</p><p>For all their boasts, the Bold Brass Gang never went after bigger catches as could be found in other parts of Melbourne.  They always kept to the lower city, bleeding the poor folks dry.  This time, their plan was to steal from a bakery.  I could have pitied them if not for knowing that they were after the coin and not the bread.  It was where I bought day-old bread for the littles for only pennies, and where most lower city folks went for the same reason.  Without it, most of us would have starved years before.</p><p>I’d told the inspector this earlier, but I didn’t reckon he understood just what it meant.  He and Miss Fisher didn’t live in the lower city, let alone Mutt Piddle Lane, and I reckoned that someone as lived here needed to be one to help.  Even if I could only trip one of ‘em up as they ran like rats, it would be worth it.</p><p>I could feel the inspector’s eyes on me as I watched the streets, and tried not to squirm under his gaze.</p><p>“As it happens, I have my men stationed around the surrounding blocks.  Our birdies told us that the gang often uses the market as cover, but today you confirmed it.” Was that admiration in his voice?  I didn’t dare look his way.  “Whatever lookouts they have, we’ll take care of once the others are in the building.”</p><p>“Am I late, Inspector?”</p><p>This time both of us spun round.</p><p>“Miss Fisher.” The inspector’s voice was full of - what, warning?  Irritation? - as Miss Fisher strode from the deepening shadows.  She looked like a model right out of a magazine, even dressed as she was in dark clothing and what folks called subdued makeup.  Her hair, a shining dark bob, was like she had just combed it afore stepping out of the shadows.</p><p>“Hello, Jack.” Miss Fisher leaned against the stall and gave the inspector a warm smile.  For me, she raised an eyebrow.  The pickle seller gave us all foul looks, but anyone could pick Inspector Robinson for a copper, so he stayed quiet.  “I thought our young friend was to spend the evening at the station.”  </p><p>“We should have locked her in.” The inspector agreed, but I could see his attention was back on watching out for the gang.  I opened my mouth, not knowing what I might say, but there was no time to answer.  I felt rather than saw Inspector Robinson stiffen just before a shout went up from the center of the market.  Someone blew a rhythm on their copper’s whistle, and it must have been to summon up the guards all around because suddenly they came swarming out, billy sticks at hand.</p><p>Inspector Robinson disappeared into the crowd that bloomed in the middle of the market, as did the pickle seller, so that I was left gaping after him like a fish.  I could see gang lads running for the streets, only to tussle with coppers that had been waiting for them.  Even in the light from the lampposts, it was near impossible to see which men fell, and which waded back into the fight.</p><p>Someone roared like a hurt bull, and a bullet whizzed by, so close that I felt my hair ruffle.  Miss Fisher cursed and pulled me to the ground behind the stall.  I hadn’t reckoned on the gang bringing guns with them, and cursed myself even as Miss Fisher dug into her handbag (black velvet) and yanked out a small pistol of her own.  She didn’t join in the fight, but kept down beside me with the gun cocked in her hands.</p><p>When I went to peek over the edge of the stall, trying for a glimpse of the inspector, Miss Fisher yanked me back hard.  “He’ll be fine!” She told me, pitching her voice to be heard over the fight.  “He’s been in lots of fights.” I wondered then, briefly, if they were sweethearts, but that wasn’t a question to be asking any polite lady.  I put the question away for later, and tucked myself deeper among the barrels.</p><p>Behind the stall we had no reckoning of the fight until it was over and Inspector Robinson appeared.  He had a cut lip and a bruised cheek, but he was still breathing.  “It’s over.” He panted, and I’m sure I didn’t imagine Miss Fisher checking herself from flinging her arms around him.</p><p>“Is anyone…?” Miss Fisher began, already dusting off her fine clothing and standing up.  Even in the dark I saw how worried her eyes had gotten.</p><p>“None of ours.” Inspector Robinson grinned then, making him look like a lad dressed up as a copper.  “The Ashwood brothers are dead, though, and it took three of us to hobble Brian Marley.” He looked at me, still hanging back, and nodded once.  “We found the bakery coins, and someone’s gone to look at their hole for the rest of the stolen goods.  You’ve done well.”</p><p>I nodded back, uncomfortable.  I hadn’t been afraid during the brawl - brawls on Mutt Piddle Lane were common enough - but talking to such an important copper still gave me the crawls.  It was still stranger to get praise from him.</p><p>“What’s your name?” The inspector asked, and so sudden-like that I had to bite my tongue to keep from answering.  No good would come of their knowing who I was.  As bad as the Bold Brass gang was, they had family what would come after me if they knew my part in the night’s dealings.  Hadn’t he told me not an hour past that folks got daft when their kin got taken away?</p><p>The big clock in the square told us that it was nearing two in the morning, and suddenly I felt bone-tired.  I’d only had tea and a bit of bread and cheese, and so when another copper tapped the inspector on the shoulder, I took my chance.  I am no thief, but I reckoned the pickle seller wouldn’t begrudge a pickle to keep me upright while I trotted away.  Mayhaps I imagined it, but I could feel Miss Fisher’s eyes on my back when I rounded the corner towards the boarding house.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ma was abed and asleep when I got home, curled up between the little ones, and for once I was glad.  I made sure to lock the door behind me, and take the key off its string so that no one could come in by the post slot.  Then I coaxed a flame up in the stove and sat there, stunned-like.</p><p>Had it just been a day since Lenny had stood in our rooms, yelling at Ma?  I sucked at my salty fingertips, getting the rest of the pickle brine off as I let my thoughts wander.  Had Lenny been among those arrested?  I had not seen his face among the fighters, and had not been there to see them that were arrested carted away.</p><p>Finally, fed up with fretting, I banked the coals and went to curl up by my family.</p><p>Two days later, the inspector and Miss Fisher appeared like magic on our doorstep.  I was the first to see, given that I was leaning out the window to hang wet clothing on the line, but somehow I could not bring myself to be surprised by the fine car that was parked up near the boarding house.</p><p>“Oh, Rebekah, what trouble have you brought on yourself?” Ma cried, collapsing into her chair near the hearth when I let them in.  The likes of Inspector Robinson and Miss Phryne Fisher had never been seen near Mutt Piddle Lane before, or even the inside of a day-old bread shop.</p><p>“We’ve only come to talk.” Miss Fisher said gently.  I glared at her, silently daring her to say anything about our two ragged rooms, but Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson seemed anything but disgusted.  I saw their eyes roving over everything, from Ma wheezing in the corner to the curtains Ma had sewn for the window above the wash basin, and then to the cluster of my brothers and sisters in the doorway to the bedroom.  I was suddenly thankful that I had cleaned the day before, so that no dust showed on any of the surfaces.  Nilo’s face was only a little dirty, but that was the best any could expect of him.</p><p>“She hasn’t done anything wrong, Mrs…?” </p><p>“Cooper.  Iloni Cooper.  I know who you are, Mr. Robinson.  You’ve been in the papers, and on the lips of everyone in the market.”</p><p>If the inspector was surprised by this, he didn’t show it.  Instead, he glanced at my mother for permission before sitting down on one of the mismatched chairs that grouped around the table, while Miss Fisher wandered to look at an old tin-type that hung on the wall.  He leaned forward on his knees, serious-like, and for a moment I wondered if I was about to be arrested too.</p><p>“Mrs. Cooper, your daughter gave us information that led to nearly thirty arrests, and the recovery of quite a lot of stolen property.  The Bold Brass Gang is gone now, Lenny and all.”</p><p>Ma’s face went so pale that I thought for sure she would faint, but then she doubled over and started hacking as though something deep and rotten in her chest needed to come out.  I leapt to my feet and dashed for the cupboard.  “She needs her medicine.” I told them, forgetting to be shy in my haste to ease Ma’s breathing.  The bottle was getting lighter than I liked, and I turned my back so that they wouldn’t see how hard I had to coax the little bit of syrup that was left onto the spoon.</p><p>“Beka?” Ma gasped, once she could get air again.  I patted her back soothingly, sparing a glare for the unlikely pair.  “She brought down the gang?  But everyone said…!”</p><p>Inspector Robinson shook his head slowly.  “She tracked down the gang to its hidey-hole, and then came to my station to report.  If she were older and a boy, I’d snap her up as a partner any day.”</p><p>The unexpected praise caught me off guard, and I will admit that I gaped at the inspector like a fish.  Miss Fisher took the syrup bottle neatly from my limp fingers and put it aside.</p><p>“So your name is Beka.” She said, a quirk to her lips.  I looked, but there was nothing mocking in her eyes.  “Well met, Beka Cooper.”</p><p>I muttered something polite.  Ladies like Miss Fisher made me uncomfortable, seeing as how she had depths and all sorts of mysteries about her.  Plain people make more sense.  Ma hadn’t noticed; she was still staring at Inspector Robinson like he was an odd bird that had wandered in from the street.</p><p>My brothers and sisters crept out then, and I watched while Ma introduced them and Diona exclaimed over Miss Fisher’s fine things.  The boys, little as they were, looked at the inspector’s badge and handcuffs, and I was surprised when the inspector dandled Nilo on his knee for a time.  That made Ma warm to him, more than any words could have.  Then, when the littles were back in the bedroom, Inspector Robinson turned serious again.</p><p>“We want to help you, Mrs. Cooper.  It’s only right after what Beka did.”</p><p>“Not welfare.” Ma said sharp-like, and I squeezed her hands in mine.  It has always been her nightmare that we would be snatched up away from her, but both Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson were already shaking their heads.</p><p>“There’s a good hospital that treats lung problems like yours.  I have a friend - a doctor - who can get you in.” Miss Fisher explained.  I could see the wariness that I was feeling on Ma’s face.</p><p>“And my children?  How am I to take care of them if I’m in hospital?”</p><p>“I have an aunt.” Miss Fisher said, gentle as she could.  “She’s a widow and lives in a big house, and the girls would have the chance to learn fine things like embroidery and music.  The boys could learn about horses or automobiles or whatever they wanted, when they were a bit older.”</p><p>“And Beka?” It was plain as day to everyone in the room that I was not suited for embroidering all day.  I would be screaming mad at the end of a week, and would probably have to be sent to a different sort of hospital.</p><p>That wicked smile came back to Miss Fisher’s face.  “I would like her to live with me.” I froze.  Inspector Robinson looked at Miss Fisher sharp-ish, but she only had eyes for Ma.  “Her mind is sharp and with a good education, she could do wondrous things.  She would have every advantage available to her, and more.”</p><p>“Phryne.” Inspector Robinson said, cautious-like, but she shrugged him off.  Much later, I would think on how he used her given name, and wonder at it.</p><p>I could see Ma struggling with it all, thinking of losing her pride and her children all at once, but she could no more say this than I could talk to the prime minister.  I reckon Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson knew this too, because after a bit more talking they excused themselves and beckoned for me to follow.</p><p>Once we were out on the street and close to Miss Fisher’s car, they turned to me.  I could see a multitude of things in and around their eyes.</p><p>“I meant every word of it, Beka.” Miss Fisher said quietly, so that the neighborhood children circling the car in awe would not hear.  “Your family would be in a good home, and your mother would have the best medical treatment possible, if she wants it.”</p><p>There was something about the way she was talking that made me wary again, and I squinted down at my mud-red feet to hide my worry and confusion.  Miss Fisher solved that right away by putting a crooked finger under my chin and lifting it so that she could look me square in the face.  If she was off-put by my ghost eyes, she showed no sign of it.</p><p>“Darling, you are something special.  You are destined for great things, Rebekah Cooper, and I would have you go with no one else.”</p><p>Did I dare tell her about the pigeons and the voices of the dead?  Or the way Ma needed us almost more than we needed her?  That anyone with eyes could tell that Ma would never get better?  Everyone in the lower city knew folks that had been taken by rot-lung, and even rich folks in hospital were carried away by it.  Still, going by Miss Fisher’s corbie-like eyes, she knew most of the things I was too shy to say.  The pigeons, I would tell tale of later.</p><p>Not making any promises, I nodded, and watched as she climbed gracefully into the car with Inspector Robinson at her side.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The end turned out to be shorter than I was expecting, but Beka is a bit like that - short, sweet, and to the point.  Enjoy, and keep a look out for the future adventures of Beka and Phryne (and poor put-upon Jack, of course).  For those that have read the Tortall books, you'll know what sort of mysteries to expect. ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>